


A Reckoning

by ReinaWritesStuff



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Canon, Angst, Character Death Fix, Dany vs. Westeros, Dark Daenerys Targaryen, Dark!Dany, F/M, Fan theory, Fix-It, Grief/Mourning, Guilt, Love/Hate, Major Character Undeath, Post-Canon, Post-Season 8 Jonerys, Resurrected Dany, Resurrection, Revenge, burn them all, fuck season 8
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-16
Updated: 2019-06-16
Packaged: 2020-05-13 05:33:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19244848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReinaWritesStuff/pseuds/ReinaWritesStuff
Summary: After deserting the Night’s Watch to flee from the ghosts of his past, a troubled and traumatized Jon learns that his ghost has found him in the form of a terrifying visitor.





	A Reckoning

**Author's Note:**

> Listen, if you’re looking for a fic where the key players in Dany’s death are seen as the more sympathetic characters, I got news for you, fam. This ain’t the one. I wrote another fic that isn’t quite as harsh, if you want to check that out. But, though it’s from Jon’s POV, this fic is tackling the story from Dany’s perspective. And Dany is pissed off. 
> 
> I've written two resurrection fics; one soft, one angry. This is the angry one. 
> 
> (I don't acknowledge OOC season 8 "Jon" as the actual Jon Snow but rather I call him "Jim Rain")
> 
> *** EDIT: Since this apparently needs to be reiterated, though I wrote the fic the way I did, I DO NOT HATE JON SNOW AND DO NOT ACKNOWLEDGE SEASON 8 JON AS ACTUAL JON. I have written this particular part of this story this way because it is the intro the story conflict. That does not mean that I agree with anything in season 8, including and especially Jon and Dany's characterizations, separately or together. That means HBO gave me trash to work with, and I'm trying to make it work for continuity's sake. 
> 
> Ask me before you assume my intentions.***

“Come with us, Jon Snow!”

The young wildling children happily pulled him along through the woods. They had been insistent that Jon join them on their adventure, though they wouldn’t let him know where the adventure led. It wasn’t the first time that they’d begged him to explore with them and he’d often obliged. The children had no parents, and Jon empathized with their loneliness in the camp. 

With Jon’s full beard and his hair grown to his collar, it was hard to remember that he came from south of the Wall. Two years after arriving at Castle Black, he was sent out on an expedition with the wildlings. A routine trip to help them settle back in their lands. Only Jon never returned to the Wall. He travelled further with the group until he assimilated with them. A deserter marked for death upon return, yes. But, it was worth the risk for a chance to escape that Wall, those lands, the ghosts. It had been three years since that escape. 

He hadn’t felt like a southerner for a long time, and he’d long since cut his ties with Westeros and any other lands beyond. Purged all connections and memories of his life there. One memory, however, no matter how hard he tried or how far he ran would never leave him. Never let him rest peacefully. 

He couldn’t hope to close his eyes without seeing hers staring back in horror, in pain and betrayal, before closing forever. No matter how many times Jon washed his hands, he still saw her blood staining them, warm as if it was fresh. It tormented him. Many nights over the years, Tormund or others in the camp had kicked him awake, claiming that Jon would yell out of terror in his sleep. It was the same when he was back at the Wall. His mind seemed to deteriorate more with each passing year. Jon had become prone to sudden flashes of blackout hostility where he would even resort to fighting any who tried to calm him before returning to reality. Some would see him wander off alone or with his direwolf, and they knew better than to disturb him. Especially not when they heard his light sobbing. By then, even many of the wildlings whom had welcomed him those years ago had become avoidant of him altogether in recent times due to his instability.

_ Jon _ , he would hear her say in his head. Sometimes as sweetly as she’d said it to him so long ago. Sometimes with a sound of tearful betrayal. And other times it was seeped with spite and vitriol.  _ Jon _ .

Any chance that he could escape those haunting feelings and try to find some scrap of happiness to distract him was welcomed. The two orphaned children, who had excitedly convinced him to follow them, offered such a distraction that evening. He even found himself smiling again in the beginning of their trek. 

“Where is this place you’re taking me to?”

“It’s a secret,” one child said.

“It’s only just ahead,” chimed the other. 

As they went along, however, the forest grew thicker, more frightening and further away from their base. Jon was unsure about traveling this deep in at dusk. Whispers recently spread through wildling camps of an unfamiliar group of travelers seen moving through the woods at night. Only at night. About fifty of them, predominantly men from what they could tell. The furs they wore were unlike anyone else’s, and whatever language they spoke was one that no tribe could identify. No one had ever seen their faces as they were always covered. Sometimes, it was reported that odd animal sounds could be heard near their posts. Any scout sent to investigate them never returned. Wildlings weren’t even certain that they were human. Only certain that they should be avoided. Jon hadn’t seen them himself, but he agreed.

At nightfall, they came upon a strange camp. There were no fires burning outside yet huts were erected and dark figures mulled around. Jon had an uneasy feeling, wishing that he’d brought Ghost or his sword or bow. At the very least, his dagger. The children pushed forward. Some of the figures stopped moving and looked towards them as they approached. He didn’t want to think it, but he knew. They had stumbled upon those mysterious and dangerous travelers. 

“I think we should turn back now,” Jon whispered, unsteadily, “We don’t know these people. You’ve heard the stories.” 

“But you have to see the secret.” 

“What is it that you’re showing me? We shouldn’t be here.”

“We should be. It’s right over there,” the kid pointed ahead.

Against his better judgement, or perhaps in an attempt to protect the determined children, he followed them. They walked into the camp as if they belonged. Just as the stories said, every figure was covered head to toe in thick cloaks and furs. But, even with the coverings, he could tell that these people were large in build. In the darkness, he could also somewhat make out the silhouettes of weapons; knives, spears, sickles. Fearsome weapons to make an easy kill of three wanderers. Jon’s breath quickened as he readied himself to defend against the imposing beings. But, none of them moved to attack. They only froze and stared as they walked by. Somehow, their lack of movement made Jon more terrified. 

The kids pulled him to a larger hut, guarded by more figures. Through the cracks he saw a fire lit on the inside. When they came to the door, the figures opened it and allowed them in much to Jon’s confusion. He tried to pull back from the children’s grips, but he was pushed forward by the guards, who entered and the door slammed behind them. 

Inside, there was a wooden table, some chairs. Minimal dressings. Fresh animal hides hung on walls. It didn’t appear that these people had been living in this camp for long, though the structure itself seemed old. In front of the fire, two hooded shapes waited; one standing at attention, one seated and facing away. 

The standing one slowly marched towards Jon and the children. As the person closed in on them, he removed his hood and Jon’s eyes widened in horror when he recognized him. A face he hadn’t seen in years and never expected to see again. Grey Worm. The soldier’s eyes bore fiery holes through Jon as if a culmination of pent up rage surged in them. Jon instinctively tried to push the kids behind him as Grey Worm whipped out a small knife and held the tip of it to Jon’s throat. 

“Leave them, Grey Worm,” Jon spoke pointedly, “Your fight is with me alone. Let them go. Please.”

“I will,” he replied. Grey Worm leaned over to the awaiting children and handed them a bag of food, his knife never leaving Jon. The kids eagerly took it, and he nodded to the two of them. “As our thanks.”

The smiling children grabbed the bag and were allowed to run out, and Jon realized the trap he’d fallen into. He should have known. Somehow he should have known. Jon had the briefest thought to try and take on Grey Worm, manage to make it past the guards, and disappear into the forest. Certainly, he should know the woods better than any one of Grey Worm’s travelers. But, Jon made no such move. A part of him didn’t want to again deny Grey Worm the justice he deserved. So, he didn’t fight.

“You killed my queen.”

“I didn’t want to.“ 

Grey Worm angrily pressed the blade closer against Jon’s skin, and Jon was certain that it had punctured him. 

“I could avenge her now.”

“Maybe you should.”

Jon was ready to die. He’d spent much of his time since reawakening ready for it. And he knew that somehow, some way, he would have to  _ truly _ answer for his crime. That one day, he would meet the same fate that he’d delivered to her– worse even –  and that he would have earned it. He was only surprised that it took as long as it had. Their eyes met with palpable tension. But, Grey Worm pulled the knife away and stepped back.

“It is not my decision to make,” he said. 

Jon looked at him, dumbfounded and wary. As he did, the second seated figure turned and stood. Any color in Jon’s skin instantly washed away when she pushed her hood back. The flames flickered against silver hair, and blue violet eyes of stone locked on him. He gasped and hurried backwards but was grabbed by the Dothraki guards behind him. Panic took over so forcefully that it rendered him unable to attempt to twist out of their grips anymore. He froze, his mouth agape. 

_ An illusion. This is only another nightmare. That’s all.  _ Jon tried to blink the hallucination away, shake his head in hopes that it would disappear, but it remained. He’d seen this sight, this face, countless times over the years, but she hadn’t been this real since he held her dying body. Her eyes were not filled with pain as they were in his dreams; a repeated playback of that moment. They blazed with a new steely anger. She was no illusion. He was gazing at Daenerys, in the flesh. 

“Have a seat,” Dany said sharply. 

The guards shoved him down into a chair across from her. She sat back down, as well, her glare still aimed at him. Jon struggled to move his mouth let alone say anything. Seeing her again, alive, was everything he’d wanted and everything he’d feared. She stared at him with a look that reflected the betrayal she felt over his action, the silent wrath she harbored all that time and the desire to tear him apart the first chance she got. 

“W-what is this?”

“I never thought that you or all people would be shocked, Jon. Sometimes the dead die. Other times they have a greater purpose than death. You know this well. I’ve come, with help from the Red Temple of Volantis, to see you again.”

“Drogon?”

“He’s near. Hidden, of course, but near me always.  _ He’s _ loyal to me.”

Jon heard her implication clearly. Dany reached into her cloak and pulled out a long object covered in cloth. She carefully unwrapped it, revealing the thin dagger inside. His dagger. Dark streaks of aged blood were still visible on the blade. Jon almost couldn’t look at it without feeling sick. She held it up, running her finger from the hilt to the pointed end. Moving it around in her hands as if to let him examine it. 

“I am sure that you were missing this. I insisted that it was kept. For when I met you again.” He steadied himself in anticipation of her next move. An action not missed by Dany. She placed the blade back in the cloth and returned it to her cloak. “Don’t worry. I won’t stab with this. That would be cruel. This was in case you needed a reminder of what brought me here.”

“I never forgot.”

“Good.”

He hadn’t forgotten. Not for one moment. He hadn’t forgotten any of it. They all called him mad and swore he was lost, but a part of him felt that he’d long known that she was still there. Somewhere. Even in the fear he had, he was still filled with a twinge of comfort and relief in seeing her in front of him. For a minute, he was brought back to a time before their fall. When he’d held her close to him. When her hair fell in the same loose curls they were in then, and he’d run his fingers through it. Over her soft skin, still as smooth and porcelain as when he saw her last. She’d smiled at him back then when he would do so. 

“I saw you in my sleep. In my dreams every night. All these years, I saw you. Clear as before.” He reflexively slid his hand across the table to touch hers. 

“And I saw you,” she began softly, “piercing my chest with this dagger.” 

She pulled her hand away from him. Grey Worm jammed a knife into the table between them, very narrowly missing Jon’s fingers. A warning to not try that again. That broke him from his nostalgic daydream and brought him back to the true danger of his situation. He’d overstepped.

“Would you like to reminisce on our time with each other? We certainly can,” Dany began coolly. She stood and started to walk slowly to one end of the table. Her nails gracefully scraped along the edge. 

“We could have ruled together. The idea was so vivid and real in my mind. You and I. Happy in a new Westeros. In love as we ever were. Two Targaryens ruling side by side again. I yearned for that more than you know.”

Her pained eyes drifted from him to the fireplace, as if she had even gotten lost in her own thoughts, as well. 

“I couldn’t rule with you. Not the way you would have wanted to,” Jon replied. Dany snapped her head back to him with a fiery glare. 

“And how would you know that? Who told you exactly what  _ my _ plans for ruling would be? Tyrion? Your sisters?”

He couldn’t answer, an unsatisfactory response for Dany. She repeated herself, louder. 

“How would you know? You never let me explain before you murdered me. Executed me without a trial. You betrayed me when I only loved you.” 

“King’s Landing–“

“Was one city.”

“One city too many. I couldn’t let it happen again.”

“You didn’t trust me that it wouldn’t.”

He had no immediate retort for that either. She wasn’t wrong. Her actions, her behavior and promises to her armies had terrified him as had her perceived threats to his family. But he couldn’t deny that the influences of others’ words had driven him to act more than his own belief in her madness.  _ She had changed, _ Jon told himself.  _ Her threats were real _ . His act was terrible but necessary, he’d resigned. Even if a part of him was uncertain in that. 

“You had become something else. Something you didn’t want to be.” 

She rolled her eyes and scoffed.

“Kind of you to tell me what I wanted. Should I thank you for what you did?” Then her voice went low. Sad. “I  _ didn’t _ want to die. Certainly not by the hand of the man I loved. That much I do know.” 

There was a glimpse of the old wounds made fresh in her tone. For that moment, it wasn’t anger being thrown his way. It was genuine hurt in its purest form. And that cut him more than anything. She paused for what felt like a long time before she cleared her throat and went on, pacing in front of the fire. 

“I also know what is happening with Dorne and the Iron Islands. That no one can quell one rebellion fast enough before two more have sprung up. Fighting is incessant, coin and crops are dwindling, and not even your brother’s powers can help. Never mind the nothingness your sister’s North has fallen into. The whole continent is ruined irreparably. Is this the Westeros you were protecting when you murdered me?”

She’d known far more about the fate of the realm than Jon, though he attempted to hide his surprise. He hadn’t so much as inquired as to what was happening in Westeros for years. Didn’t want to think about it, so he was never informed on the matters. Rebellions that even Bran couldn’t stave off. Sansa faltering with the independent North. Order must have been all but lost in the South.  _ Was _ this what he stopped Dany for? He’d hoped, though deep down knowing it to be untrue, that his crime had at least brought some kind of calm to the realm.  _ It really was all for nothing _ , he thought.

“I’m so sorry,” Jon said weakly after some time. That quickly angered Dany.

”Sorry for what, Jon? For not supporting me when I needed you most? For blatantly  _ lying _ about ever loving me? Or simply for killing me? Which is it? Don’t ever insult me with your apologies again.” 

She turned away to look out the window at the night sky.

”I should have never come to Westeros. My true place was in the east with my Valyrian ancestors. It took dying in this evil western filth to see that. I will remake Old Valyria. Remake the home of my blood into the great civilization it once was. Better than. And, I’ve already begun. Soon the waters will flow clear once more. Buildings, homes, castles will be erected. And dragons will fill the skies.” She paused. ”But not before I am finished here.”

Dany moved back to sit across from Jon, seemingly knowing what his next question would be. The one he had failed to ask and was nearly too afraid to ask until that moment. He cautiously mustered up the courage to pose the question.

“Why have you brought me here?” 

“Because I wanted to show you something.” She waved her hand and signaled for the Dothraki men to bring forth an enormous chest. Dany looked to Jon as they dropped it at his side. “Open it.”

The way she waited for him, he was anxious to see what he would find. The heads of those who wronged her? Would his join theirs next? With a shaky breath, Jon opened the chest. It was not filled with heads, though. Not with anything human. Inside were five large, hatched egg shells. The surface of each was old, cracked and charred but the scales were unmistakable. Dany smirked when she saw the shock on Jon’s face.

“We searched for some time on rumors alone. We thought there would be one, maybe two. There were five.”

“Dragons,” Jon breathed out.

“Dragons. And they’re alive. Growing quickly every day. Two are even larger than Drogon was at their age. They’ll likely surpass him in size when they’re older.”

“Where are you keeping them?”

“Why would I tell you that?”

A fair question. He was no longer her ally. No longer her lover. She saw him as nothing more than an enemy like the others. And he could not bring himself to argue against that.

“You know, besides traveling to Westeros, the one true mistake I made was listening to anyone but myself. Advisors. Allies. Sheep. I‘d lost myself for far too long. Forgotten who I was. What I was,” she spoke with venom. “Dragons do not bow to ravens. They do not bow to lions. They do not bow to  _ wolves _ . Dragons do as they will.” 

He looked again at the eggs, imagining the future that they would bring. The terror they would bring. And Dany confirmed his fear.

“One day, these five will be full grown. Full grown and filled with the rage of their mother. Six dragons in total. My ancestors conquered Westeros with half as many.”

“There is no throne anymore,” Jon pleaded, “Ruling Westeros isn’t worth this. It’s ruined. You said as much yourself.”

Dany laughed at this, and Grey Worm grinned with an ominous look. Jon glanced between them, confused by their amusement. 

“Jon. I am not coming to rule Westeros. That time is done. These are pitiful lands indeed. All of Essos knows as much. And, as I said, I would not waste my efforts again. I have found my true purpose in New Valyria. Aegon the Conqueror sought unity and progress under a Targaryen rule when he arrived. I care about neither now.” 

Dany’s eyes went dark and cold as ice daggers as she next spoke to Jon.

“King’s Landing, the Reach, the Riverlands and Westerlands, the North. I am owed a great debt by the rulers of that continent because of what you did. And I will come back with full force to collect it. Every castle will fall and every traitor will burn. History will forget those great houses of Westeros when I am finished, but it will never forget my family’s words again.” 

Fire and Blood. It repeated in his head. The fury in her voice erased any doubt he could have possibly had about her intentions. Jon’s heart pounded, horrified at the visual she laid out for him. Whatever was left of the Red Keep, Highgarden, Winterfell, others. All bathed in flames. Blood pouring through the streets and on the grounds. If those were her plans for enemies great distances away, he shuddered to think of her plan for him right in front of her. 

“Are you going to kill me now?” 

“I wouldn’t dream it. I want to you to be here for my return. To know and see what I’ve done. To see what  _ you’ve _ done.”

“I can’t keep this a secret.”

“I know you can’t. That’s why I sent for you. Why I hunted you down. Because it won’t matter. They cannot stop me. Not this time. I’m protected by the high priests and priestesses of Volantis. By my Unsullied, my Dothraki. My Drogon. And soon by five more children. This will not be a war or a conquest. It will be a reckoning. When I come back, it will be the end.” Dany got up and leaned over the table to close space between them, making her words loud and clear. “Tell them all I’m coming for them, if you’d like. You’re good at spreading secrets.” 

She nodded to her men behind Jon. The Dothraki guards yanked him up out of his seat and dragged him towards the door. In a moment that was perhaps a lapse in judgement, Jon begged for a chance to say one more thing. After some consideration, Dany told the guards to hold on, and she defensively waited for Jon to say his piece. He took a deep breath, his eyes had begun to well. Jon spoke as if it were only the two of them in the room, his gaze focused on her alone. 

“You’re right that I hadn’t trusted you when I should have. I’ve struggled with that every single day since. But, I did still loved you, Dany. That was always true. Always.”

The silence following his statement was heavy, and he wondered if he had just sealed his death by saying it. Then a lone tear slid down Dany’s cheek, and there was a faint quiver of her lips. But, her face was stone and resigned. No admissions of love or remorse would change her mind, not that Jon had much expected it to. They would not stop her, and she meant that. She inhaled sharply to suppress any more tears. Her jaw clenched as she replied. 

“Until we meet again, Jon Snow. Run along.”

They yanked him away. As he was dragged off, he took one last glance at Dany’s merciless face before Grey Worm shut the door. 

Jon was roughly marched through the camp. The others were already packing up, preparing to move again.  _ Where are they going next? _ One soldier pushed Jon forward, seeing that he was lagging. They wanted him gone quickly. The Dothraki men followed him until they reached a point where the camp was no longer in sight and forced him ahead. Jon hesitated briefly before continuing on. Each time he glanced over his shoulder the two watched him intently until they too disappeared in the darkness. It was only then that the enormity of what happened, what he’d seen and heard, truly set in. 

He stopped walking. Stopped moving all together. His vision seemed to blur and a ringing cried out in his ears. Any time he mustered up the strength to move his feet again, he became disoriented until he collapsed to his knees. He needed to go. Where, he wasn’t sure yet. Back to the camp where those children were? To the Wall, where they’d sooner demand his head than listen to him? He had no plan. He only needed to go. But, he couldn’t move. He could only think of her words.

_ You betrayed me when I only loved you. _

“Get up,” he argued with himself, even slapping his hand across his face. He shook his head and his breath quickened so rapidly that he believed he would choke. He could hear his heart beating through his chest.

_ Don’t ever insult me with your apologies again. _

“You… you have to warn them. Get up.” The overwhelming emotions paralyzed him, no emotion greater than his fear. A type of fear he’d never experienced in his life. Greater than in any battle he’d fought. 

_ It will be a reckoning _ . 

Just then, for but a second, the moonlight through the treetops was blocked by an enormous, silent shadow. He looked up to catch a glance at Drogon, gliding high above. He thought back to his last sight of Drogon as he flew from the throne room, and he appeared to have gotten even larger since. But that wasn’t what struck Jon the most. Flying closely to Drogon and equally quiet, Jon saw the smaller shape of a second dragon. And then a third. A fourth. A fifth. A sixth. Jon sunk deeper into the ground, his hands trembling.  

“What have we done,” Jon asked shakily under his breath.

_ Until we meet again, Jon Snow _ .

_ Jon. _

**Author's Note:**

> \- Fuck them kids, am I right, Jon?
> 
> \- I haven't decided on if this will be a whole extended fic or what, so don't hold me to that. But, I've already written part of a second part where Jon is brought to Winterfell and tries to warn the QITN about what's coming. And I've written pieces of a final part, too. I'm just writing them as they come to me. Usually when I remember something else to be angry about.
> 
> \- Dany implying that she is the only Targaryen ("my family" "my blood") is on purpose. She no longer considers Jon a Targaryen anymore as a way to sever her connection to him, and she wants him to know it. Again, she's pissed. 
> 
> \- As much as I reject the Mad Queen Dany nonsense, I have to say it was fun as hell writing Dark!Dany. Definitely want to play around more with Dark!Dany (and Dark!Jon/Dark!Jonerys) in the future.
> 
> \- I actually didn't want to write Jon's trauma just for the sake of getting dragging by Dany. I do genuinely believe that he would continue to be haunted by what he did, question whether he was right to or not, and would still love her. 
> 
> \- I was going to write Ghost in more, but I guess I got show runner syndrome and "kind of forgot." I'll add him in more if I continue on with this.


End file.
